My training class was scheduled as a 2pm to 10pm this week so I was enjoying the fact I was able to sleep later. I only had about 6 trainees to train so it would be a piece of cake. Plus, it was at "Southside", the South Orlando office and it was a more relaxed, less "corporate" atmosphere there so I had no qualms about drinking a bit too much.
If I went in with a hangover, I could usually cover for it with my pretty much well-practiced speeches and curriculum, so it was no problem. If I looked a little puffy and had bags under my eyes, it was pretty much overlooked here in "the ghetto", where most of the reps, and the management for that matter, looked the same.
But I guess the booze affected me more than I thought when I had a few beers the night before. It took the alarm clock to wake me at 11am. I set it late enough to allow for extra sleep if I needed it (which I had this morning), but early enough to get business done before I went in around 1pm.
Though it isn't part of my usual routine to wake up and put on the TV, for some reason, I felt compelled to. I wondered for quite a while why I chose to act differently from my norm on that day and I wonder whether, during my sleep, if I could subconsciously hear through the walls or the floor any of my neighbors in the apartment building with their TV volume on high as they watched the unfolding events. I can't really say.
But when I turned on the TV, it had at first been tuned to some cable channel showing reruns of some sitcom or something but as I flipped through the channels with my remote, I quickly noticed that almost all the big networks were focusing on some breaking news story.
Instantly, my stomach tied itself into knots. Movies like "Independence Day" and "Deep Impact" have their dramatic moment when television broadcasts are universally interrupted by a "Special Report" conveying the currently live and on-going events with life-shattering implications for all viewers. That's all I could think of. Without even a glimpse of the content of these apparently urgent news reports, I knew they were paramount.
I stopped my channel-surfing when I got to CBS News and saw footage, taken just moments ago according to Dan Rather, of lower Manhattan. I saw on my TV screen, a huge puffy white cloud enveloping some skyscrapers. I could make out the American Express buildings which I was familiar with, but was taken aback for a second or two as to what I couldn't see. Then it hit me. The Trade Center. The two towers of the World Trade Center were not there. Just a cloud of smoke.
I screamed. I cried. I accepted what my eyes were telling me, that the World Trade Center in New York City was gone. Not just one tower but both. Once the tallest buildings on Earth, and one of the most iconic landmarks of both New York and a symbol of the financial strength and vitality of the United States of America. And now they were no more.
Before I could even imagine how, or who...I thought of the lives. The countless thousands, nay, I thought, being a busy weekday morning with all those workers and businessmen and tourists and family and passersby, perhaps tens of thousands of people killed. I cried and screamed into my pillow. I lay prostate on my bed shivering with grief and sorrow for the scores of souls lost. People I'd never met, and never would, but felt a connection to because they were Americans...my people.
I, of course, recalled the attempt by Islamic fundamentalist terrorists to bomb and topple the very same building in 1993, and suspected that this time they'd succeeded in doing it. But as the news programs progressed, they showed footage, over and over again on all the networks (which I was scanning back and forth between now to get a more robust picture of the events as they'd occured and were continuing to unfold) of the planes striking the buildings and their subsequent rapid deteriorating condition and ultimate collapse.
Almost before I could recover somewhat from the terror playing its drama out on the television before me, like a big budget Hollywood action film, I watched as Dan Rather was interviewing a General at the Pentagon via satellite and we heard a loud bang. Soon we learned that another plane had smashed into it.
Was this a dream? Have I really woken up yet? I mean, I was still groggy and hungover and still in my bed, never having yet risen to complete any routine morning activities like a shower and shave.
I jumped on what was then Mildred IX and scoured the Internet for more breaking news of these unbelievable events. But back then, online news was definitely second fiddle to broadcast, and maybe even print, so even though I googled "world trade center attack', it wouldn't be 'till the next day when I could find online news pertaining to the current event.
The manager of Southside, Joe Miranda, called around noon and told me what I'd already assumed. The class would be cancelled for the day. They were letting reps that were on the floor leave as we spoke. Joe was from New York and though he tried to maintain professionalism and calm, I could hear the frantic worry and hurt in his voice.
I sat there, also hurt and feeling alone. I needed someone to reach out to express my anger, confusion, anxiety and sorrow to. I called Ric. When he answered, he seemed curt and impatient since he picked up the call during his short lunch break.
"What", he tersely asked when he answered the call, knowing by the caller id it was me.
"Did you hear what just happened?", I asked.
"No, I've been working", he spit out as if whatever it was, it was not important to his life.
"The World Trade Center was destroyed by terrorists!", I informed him.
And then, in true Ric fashion, he replied, "Well good! It's 'cause of George Bush. I hope they kill him too."
Not a lover of Bush myself, but knowing this had nothing to do with him, I exclaimed, "How could you say that? This is a time when we all have to come together!"
"Fuck George Bush and I feel bad if anyone died, but I don't give a fuck about rich New Yorkers either. They're a bunch of rich, spoiled Jews and Republicans who support Bush and deserve what they get."
Though Ric has since tried to tone down his offensive statements of that day, he still, to this day, doesn't apologize for what he felt.
That's Ric for ya.
If I went in with a hangover, I could usually cover for it with my pretty much well-practiced speeches and curriculum, so it was no problem. If I looked a little puffy and had bags under my eyes, it was pretty much overlooked here in "the ghetto", where most of the reps, and the management for that matter, looked the same.
But I guess the booze affected me more than I thought when I had a few beers the night before. It took the alarm clock to wake me at 11am. I set it late enough to allow for extra sleep if I needed it (which I had this morning), but early enough to get business done before I went in around 1pm.
Though it isn't part of my usual routine to wake up and put on the TV, for some reason, I felt compelled to. I wondered for quite a while why I chose to act differently from my norm on that day and I wonder whether, during my sleep, if I could subconsciously hear through the walls or the floor any of my neighbors in the apartment building with their TV volume on high as they watched the unfolding events. I can't really say.
But when I turned on the TV, it had at first been tuned to some cable channel showing reruns of some sitcom or something but as I flipped through the channels with my remote, I quickly noticed that almost all the big networks were focusing on some breaking news story.
Instantly, my stomach tied itself into knots. Movies like "Independence Day" and "Deep Impact" have their dramatic moment when television broadcasts are universally interrupted by a "Special Report" conveying the currently live and on-going events with life-shattering implications for all viewers. That's all I could think of. Without even a glimpse of the content of these apparently urgent news reports, I knew they were paramount.
I stopped my channel-surfing when I got to CBS News and saw footage, taken just moments ago according to Dan Rather, of lower Manhattan. I saw on my TV screen, a huge puffy white cloud enveloping some skyscrapers. I could make out the American Express buildings which I was familiar with, but was taken aback for a second or two as to what I couldn't see. Then it hit me. The Trade Center. The two towers of the World Trade Center were not there. Just a cloud of smoke.
I screamed. I cried. I accepted what my eyes were telling me, that the World Trade Center in New York City was gone. Not just one tower but both. Once the tallest buildings on Earth, and one of the most iconic landmarks of both New York and a symbol of the financial strength and vitality of the United States of America. And now they were no more.
Before I could even imagine how, or who...I thought of the lives. The countless thousands, nay, I thought, being a busy weekday morning with all those workers and businessmen and tourists and family and passersby, perhaps tens of thousands of people killed. I cried and screamed into my pillow. I lay prostate on my bed shivering with grief and sorrow for the scores of souls lost. People I'd never met, and never would, but felt a connection to because they were Americans...my people.
I, of course, recalled the attempt by Islamic fundamentalist terrorists to bomb and topple the very same building in 1993, and suspected that this time they'd succeeded in doing it. But as the news programs progressed, they showed footage, over and over again on all the networks (which I was scanning back and forth between now to get a more robust picture of the events as they'd occured and were continuing to unfold) of the planes striking the buildings and their subsequent rapid deteriorating condition and ultimate collapse.
Almost before I could recover somewhat from the terror playing its drama out on the television before me, like a big budget Hollywood action film, I watched as Dan Rather was interviewing a General at the Pentagon via satellite and we heard a loud bang. Soon we learned that another plane had smashed into it.
Was this a dream? Have I really woken up yet? I mean, I was still groggy and hungover and still in my bed, never having yet risen to complete any routine morning activities like a shower and shave.
I jumped on what was then Mildred IX and scoured the Internet for more breaking news of these unbelievable events. But back then, online news was definitely second fiddle to broadcast, and maybe even print, so even though I googled "world trade center attack', it wouldn't be 'till the next day when I could find online news pertaining to the current event.
The manager of Southside, Joe Miranda, called around noon and told me what I'd already assumed. The class would be cancelled for the day. They were letting reps that were on the floor leave as we spoke. Joe was from New York and though he tried to maintain professionalism and calm, I could hear the frantic worry and hurt in his voice.
I sat there, also hurt and feeling alone. I needed someone to reach out to express my anger, confusion, anxiety and sorrow to. I called Ric. When he answered, he seemed curt and impatient since he picked up the call during his short lunch break.
"What", he tersely asked when he answered the call, knowing by the caller id it was me.
"Did you hear what just happened?", I asked.
"No, I've been working", he spit out as if whatever it was, it was not important to his life.
"The World Trade Center was destroyed by terrorists!", I informed him.
And then, in true Ric fashion, he replied, "Well good! It's 'cause of George Bush. I hope they kill him too."
Not a lover of Bush myself, but knowing this had nothing to do with him, I exclaimed, "How could you say that? This is a time when we all have to come together!"
"Fuck George Bush and I feel bad if anyone died, but I don't give a fuck about rich New Yorkers either. They're a bunch of rich, spoiled Jews and Republicans who support Bush and deserve what they get."
Though Ric has since tried to tone down his offensive statements of that day, he still, to this day, doesn't apologize for what he felt.
That's Ric for ya.